The Scion of Ruin

The grove was silent as a tomb. Towering trees—ancient pines and cedars—arched overhead, blotting out sky and sun. Between their roots, dense mats of moss swallowed fallen leaves and twining vines. The heavy scent of ozone and stale blood permeated the air, clinging to Li Shen's fingertips and settling into his lungs with each shallow breath.

He came on what should have been a routine errand—repair a cracked spiritual array that Elder Guo had assigned him in this isolated corner of the sect. A menial task, far from the limelight, but Guo had stated it with cold clarity: "Fix it or suffer the consequences." Li Shen did not argue; he could not. Nevertheless, he kept his pruning knife beside him—steel edge dull from splitting roots, more useful for chopping weeds than for true combat. Still, he never left it behind.

Then came the flicker of movement.

He froze—his training propelling him into readiness. The overgrown path before him was streaked with shadows and flecks of black Qi residue, like soot raining downward. Something had happened here. Very recently.

Li Shen slipped forward on silent feet. His heart thudded against his ribs—an alarm bell. As he neared a moss-covered boulder, the sight hit him in a wave.

The Grand Elder Jian lay crumpled against it. His pale-blue cultivation robes, once grand and immaculate, were shredded and soaked in crimson. A gash ran across his chest, dark energy pulsing beneath the skin. His spiritual Qi was all but extinguished—a flickering candle on the verge of guttering out.

Before him, a demon‑corrupted cultivator writhed. Its multi-limbed form contorted in agony, flesh half-decayed into swirling black mist. It clearly had been defeated—its Qi fraying, form dissolving—but still, with its very last breath, its claws lashed out at the fallen Elder.

Time slowed for Li Shen.

A guttural gurgle rumbled from the demon. Purple-black tendrils of Qi formed around its hand, a final killing strike aimed at Elder Jian's neck.

"NO!" Li Shen sprang forward, pruning knife drawn.

From his Heaven Asura Destruction Body boiled a frost-numbing instinct—precision, timing, clarity. He lunged.

The knife flashed, blade burying into the demon's core. The creature howled—a sound of undying hatred and agony—disintegrating into foul smoke which streamed away… until it slammed into Li Shen. Absorption. A chilling wash of corrupted power entered his veins. His mind flickered…but that was it: count incremented. Another demon gone, another essence consumed.

He collapsed to one knee as the demon's scream died. All that remained was the empty echo of static in the grove.

Shaking, he kicked aside the smoke residue and staggered to the Elder's side. Jian was conscious—barely. He rasped, eyes half-open, looking at Li Shen with pain and gratitude. Recognition dawned—but only a moment before the eyelids fluttered shut again.

Li Shen saw the purple spread beneath Jian's sternum—dark contagion eating Qi meridians. The Elder's breathing was shallow and faltering.

"Qi blocked… poison," he whispered to himself, head pulsing. Fear threatened—but was strangled by instinct. The Heaven Asura body gave him unnatural clarity. He focused on the pattern of corrupted Wei Qi at the wound's root and pushed through the pain—pain that would've crushed a normal man's mind.

He thought: Alchemy Hall. Now.

No hesitation.

Li Shen slipped his knife back into his belt, paused to steady himself, then braced and hoisted Elder Jian onto his back. The elder's weight was punishing—spiritually and physically. But Li Shen's muscles, honed by years of suppression and torment, howled—yet held.

He climbed to his feet and plunged into motion.

...

Branches whiplashed his face, roots snagged his sleeves. He vaulted over fallen trunks, sidestepped pits and uneven ground—his body moving with uncanny spatial awareness, finding hidden shortcuts. This was not the well‑traveled path disciples used; this was wilderness.

Every second counted. The tainted Qi in the grove still clung to the stones; every echo drew his ire.

Behind him, foliage rustled. Li Shen risked a glance. No pursuers, but the grove still pulsed with residual darkness. He dared not slow.

Thoughts raced—how he could guide the Grand Elder's life back from death? He reached into the unconscious memories of his cultivation: the path of healing runs through the Alchemy Hall, where refined elixirs, processed by masters, could purge poison and rebuild energy reserves. No other place in the sect could match it. Not even another Qianmeng disciple, untrained in spiritual pharmacology, would dare think to go straight.

So he funneled Qi into his legs and surged out of the grove.

---

The Sect's mid‑levels lay ahead—terraced platforms ringed with buildings: cultivation halls, minor guest quarters, sparse training grounds. Disciples milled about. Most were armed with curiosity, some with scorn. No one expected the shabby handyman to be racing toward them like a freight train, carrying an almost‑dead Grand Elder.

He turned aside, dodging stares and halting activity. Elder Guo's voice echoed in his mind—harsh, judgmental. Don't stop. Not now.

When he reached the courtyard just below the Alchemy Hall, he knew the structure before seeing it: a three‑story pavilion of white stone with jade‑green accents; inside, alchemical timers glowed, scents of herbs percolated, and robed disciples bustled. It was strictly off‑limits to untrained personnel—certainly to someone like him.

But today, policy would not stand.

He burst through the wooden doors.

Silence dropped across the hall like a curtain.

White‑robed alchemists froze mid‑stir. Mortar and pestle halted. Cauldrons hissed. The world outside the grand doors vanished.

All eyes fixed on Li Shen, his body soaked with sweat, dust, blood; Elder Jian strapped to his back, robe torn, unconscious and gravely still. Mud marked the white floor.

For a breath of eternity, no one moved.

Then Li Shen dropped to his knees, sliding the Grand Elder down. He pointed at the wound, at the purple infection blossoming along Jian's chest.

"Alchemists…" His voice was hoarse. "Demonic poison. He's infected. It's spreading. Qi blocked. He's…" His words failed him. He swallowed. "You have to act now."

He looked up—eyes blazing. For once, no meek suburban handyman. Just a man fighting for the Grand Elder's life.

---

Masters scrambled. The Supreme Alchemist, Master Qingcheng, one of the oldest, stepped forward. His face a mask of judicious calm—yet his eyes flickered with panic. He snapped orders to disciples: bring pearl‑cold gauze! Extract phoenix herb! Prepare supreme antidote tonic!

One junior alchemist whispered: "Who is this…?"

Master Qingcheng barked, "Enough. Move."

Disciples closed ranks around Jian. They laid him on a wide stone bench polished like a river rock, then pressed cold jade plates to his breast. Brewed Qi‑clarifying ointments appeared.

"Bring the fang‑cleanse pills," Qingcheng instructed, voice tight. "Also the elixir of Jade Clarity. Quickly."

The air around Jian shimmered as fragrant steam unfurled from the healing concoctions. Alchemists muttered incantations designed to force the antidote into the blood stream. Purple energy recoiled, splintered.

Li Shen knelt at the perimeter. Every second the Elder lay there was fraught. He knew there was still a chance the poison had leeched too deep.

Then Master Qingcheng came to him. "You—handyman—how did you know what to do? How did you do this?"

Li Shen's breathing stuttered. He straightened. "I… sensed the corruption. Knew what place, what herbs, even how fast it had to reach him." He hesitated. "No time… other paths too slow. Their diagnosis might be wrong…"

An alchemist stepped forward: "There are disciples trained in anti‑poison on guard duty."

"A moment's delay kills him," Li Shen's voice was cold but not authoritarian—just real. "He needs coordinated Qi‑flow support and Alchemical purge together. Only here."

The hall fell quiet again. Master Qingcheng looked from Li Shen to Jian, whose breaths had slowed further. Alchemists placed hands on Jian's pulse. Jian's Qi was barely audible.

Without another word, Qingcheng turned his back. He resumed the work. Others followed.

Li Shen let his head drop. He didn't feel pride. Just relief cut by exhaustion.

He stared at the Grand Elder's still form. He listened to the hiss of potions, heavy steps of disciples passing. Cupboards opened. Qi‑lifting spells chanted low.

Outside, the world returned—footsteps, conversation, life. Inside, everything paused.

---

An hour passed. Then two.

Li Shen hunched at the edge, limbs trembling. He'd sagged onto a stool in the corner. The adrenaline had left him empty—stomach clenching, mind fuzzy. The Heaven Asura Body's clarity had given him purpose, but after that spike… he felt spent.

Finally, Master Qingcheng stepped away from the bench. He held a jade vial the size of a goose egg, filled with swirling indigo elixir. He bowed to Li Shen, face grave. He spilled the cure into Jian's mouth. Tian‑grade five.

"Will he survive?" The words crawled from Li Shen's parched throat.

Qingcheng offered nothing but the vial. "It's done. We've stabilized the poison. But his meridians were nearly shattered. Qi is weak. He may sleep days. He may…"

Master Qingcheng hesitated.

"He may die if complications arise."

Li Shen swallowed. His stomach clenched with guilt and hope. "Thank you."

Qingcheng inclined his head. "This… remarkably, was your intervention. Had you delayed, he would've passed."

Li Shen shook. "I—I didn't think. I acted."

"Hmm." The master's expression was inscrutable. "You have an unusual talent. Your cultivation… is not low. This insight is not common among handymen." He added quietly, "I recommend you to Elder Jian, once he awakes."

Li Shen nodded, every breath heavy.

Outside, the Alchemy Hall's doors opened. The midday sun flooded in. Elder disciples peeked, whispering. Rumor would spread like wildfire. Who had saved the Grand Elder? Who had rushed him in? A handyman?

The implications churned in Li Shen's chest.

---

Unconscious, Elder Jian lay on the bench, chest rising and falling—barely. But stable. A single dark stain remained—a reminder of how close to death he'd come.

Li Shen climbed to his feet. He approached silently, bowed low, then stepped back. He couldn't leave yet—not until Elder Jian was safe.

Qingcheng caught his eye. "Rest. Eat something. Your body… will thank you."

Li Shen accepted a steaming bowl of rice soup from a young disciple. He sipped gratefully. Each swallow felt like reclaiming his bones.

He glanced again at Jian—the debt he owed was monumental. A life‑debt owed to a Outer court Grand Elder of the entire Azure cloud Sect. This debt could alter his future, his fate—but in this moment, unspoken, it forged a bond.

Li Shen closed his eyes. No words formed. No whispers passed. But inside, his will hardened. For better or worse, he was now tied to Elder Jian—and the consequences would ripple far beyond this day.

---

Miles away, in the upper tiers of the cultivation complex, Elder Guo paced before a shattered spiritual array. Arranging stones in a delicate formation, he fumed—angry, not at the task, but at the void he felt. Jian, his peer, had vanished from this duty. Guards had been sent to investigate. No one had seen the Grand Elder.

Then reports arrived—some dry‑spoken sect guards had seen a handyman dragging a fallen man into the Alchemy Hall. A Grand Elder, inconsolable panic. Guo's lips curled cold as obsidian.

His mind raced—"How dare a handyman touch a Grand Elder?" He narrowed his eyes. This would not stand.

But still… not yet his concern. The priority: find Jian. Alive. Or Guo himself would raze these groves to dust.

...

Through the afternoon, Li Shen kept vigil at the hall's entrance. He barely spoke. Each woosh of passing gown and clack of wooden geta shoes made his heart stutter.

Alchemists emerged, then returned to gather more shards of jade cooling on Jian's chest. Someone adjusted pillows. Murmurs. Noon shadows shifted.

No one asked him to leave. No one recognized him. In a way, that suited him better. He was just a shadow, unmoving, resolute.

Twice, he nearly dozed—exhaustion collapsing him. Each time he jerked awake, gaze returning to Jian.

As the sun began its descent, tinted by the Lotus Sect's jade walls, footsteps approached down the corridor. Heavy boots. Flowing sleeves. Weighty presence.

In walked Master Qingcheng once more. He motioned to Li Shen. They stepped aside.

"We'll keep watching him through tonight. The antidote… brings a fragile equilibrium." He sighed. "I will personally inform Elder Jian's inner circle. But you—what is your name, young man?"

Li Shen swallowed. "Li Shen. Handyman."

"Very well." Qingcheng's eyes flickered. "Return tomorrow. I may have a request."

---

Li Shen bowed. In the twilight of the hall, he felt weight settle across his shoulders—not expectation, but promise. He bowed once more and left.

Outside, the courtyard shimmered in lamplight. Guards were posted. Li Shen slipped away, silent among the shadows.

He returned to the old handyman dorms, collapsed on his cot. Limbs numb. Muscles trembled. His blade lay at his belt, dull edge smeared dark.

He closed his eyes. Memories of the grove came racing back—the demon's black Qi, its murderous final strike, the smell of ozone, the weight of Jian's body on his back, the distorted expression as the antidote took hold.

And he thought of cultivation: Qi Condensation Stage 1 still. No breakthrough. But his Heaven Asura Destruction Body had revealed a power surpassing ordinary ranks. This was a reckoning.

He drifted into fitful sleep, mind burning with images of shadow and healing. He dreamed of the Grand Elder stirring—seeing him—and saying one word: "Li Shen."

---